de on the funny
little old donkey to the city. And every day the beautiful woman wept and
said, "O Miriam, my daughter!" One day Tilda approached the beautiful
woman and spoke to her.

"Why do you call that funny, hateful, little old woman your daughter?"

"Because she is my daughter."

"But she is so much older than you are."

"Why," said the beautiful woman, "don't you know the history of the funny
little old woman that rides her donkey to town every day? She is my
daughter. She is not old; but she was a cross child. She fretted and
pouted, and scolded and screamed. She frowned till her brow began to
wrinkle. I do not know whether a fairy enchanted her or not, but when she
became angry there was one wrinkle that could not be removed. The next
time she was mad, another wrinkle remained. When she found that the
wrinkles would not come out she became mad at that, and of course, every
time she got into a passion there came other wrinkles. Then, too, her
temper grew worse. Her once beautiful voice began to sound like a cracked
tin horn. The wrinkles soon covered her face; then they grew crosswise;
you see it is all in beggars' presses. She got old; she shrivelled up;
she stooped over. She became so cross that she spends most of her time in
that funny little old house, to keep away from the rest of us. She must
have something to do, and so she gets angry at the stones and breaks them
up. She then carries them to the city and throws them into the river. She
must have something to beat, and so we let her have this poor donkey,
whose skin is thick. She beats him, and thus people are saved from her
ravings. I do not know whether she will ever come to her senses or not. O
Miriam, my daughter!"

At last Tilda dreamed that the funny, wrinkled, cross, little old woman,
got down one day off her donkey, poured the stones out of the bag, and
came and sat down by the beautiful lady. Then the funny little old woman
cried. She put her head in the lap of the beautiful lady, and said, "O
mother, how shall I get these wrinkles away!"

And the beautiful lady kissed her and said, "Ah! my daughter, if you will
but cast out the bitterness from your heart, as you poured the stones
from the bag, I shall not care for the wrinkles?"

The next day Tilda saw the funny little old woman feeding and petting the
donkey. Then she saw her carrying food to a poor widow. And every time
the funny little old woman did a kind act there was one wrinkle le